


The World is Not Enough

by Sanguineheroine



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad Flirting, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Hannigram - Freeform, Hotel Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Shower Sex, Slash, Swearing, Tumblr Prompt, Will Graham Doesn't Need Help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:28:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24973843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanguineheroine/pseuds/Sanguineheroine
Summary: Bad pickup-line AU based onthis Tumblr postand hilarious comic byAleandri.“With my face” says the stranger in a thick European accent “and your ass, we could rule the world.”Oh for Christ’s sakeWill thinks,Can’t you bastards leave me alone?
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 18
Kudos: 253





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've marked the fic as 'Explicit' but the lion's share of the action will take place in the next chapter.

"Laphroaig" Will says lazily, without looking at the bar. He doesn't particularly care but simply shouting ‘whiskey’ at a bartender doesn’t usually yield the desired result. Unless the desired result is being asked to leave without his drink.

"Ten, twelve or eighteen?" Asks the bartender distractedly, more focussed on the milky cleavage of the blonde at the end of the bar than Will's pretended passion for Islay.

"Eighteen" Will tells him after a moment, throwing down his bureau credit card. _Fuck it_ , he thinks, this is the closest thing he's had to a vacation in years - if by _vacation_ he meant _repeated exposure to cretinous psychiatrists who want to pick apart my brain. Perhaps literally_ , he adds, remembering the hungry expression on some of the faces that had leaned in to examine his name badge.

“Graham? Hmm,” one particularly fussy little man had exclaimed “I’ve certainly heard about you.”

He’d clasped his cane prissily between both hands and examined Will with a tilted head and a lecherous, almost reptilian expression. “Funny,” Will said to him thoughtfully “I’ve never heard _your_ name, uh…”

“Frederick” the prissy man supplied, inclining his pointed chin toward his badge “Chilton.” 

“Oh.” Will had said, nonplussed. Then he’d leaned back just a little on his heels and stared at the man over the top of his glasses until he turned and fled just as fast as his cane and wounded dignity would allow.

The badge. Fuck the badge, he thinks, tearing it from his lapel and shoving it deep into his pocket. Without the badge, Will feels more comfortably anonymous amongst the post-panel crowds. He sips his drink and watches their reflections ripple across the coppery tiles behind the bar.

The whiskey is good, great actually, and it’s gone quickly. Will orders another from the indifferent bartender, raising the glass to his own watery image in a silent toast to Jack Crawford for signing Will’s expense form in advance. By the time Jack and Bella return from New York, the form will already be in the accounts inbox and Will’s sixty-dollar whiskey will be someone else’s problem.

Will’s risk-benefit analysis of ordering a third drink is rudely interrupted by warm breath at his right ear.

“With my face” says the stranger in a thick European accent “and your ass, we could rule the world.” _Oh for Christ’s sake_ Will thinks, _first my mind and now my ass. Can’t you bastards leave me the fuck alone?_

Will turns, a pointed _fuck off_ ready on the tip of his tongue, but the stranger’s face gives him pause. _He certainly does have the face for it_ , agrees Will silently, taking in dark eyes and sharp cheekbones with absent interest. But _seriously_ , what a fucking line.

The stranger raises an eyebrow, appraising Will with very frank admiration. “Belay my last,” he says, staring rather pointedly at Will’s mouth “you clearly have everything you need for world domination.”

With an elegant lift of the stranger’s other eyebrow and a tap of one long, elegant finger, the previously indifferent bartender has appeared with a fresh drink for Will and a glass of rosé. Will tilts his glass toward the stranger in thanks and takes a small sip, trying very hard to keep his expression civil for at least as long as it takes him to finish his drink. This will, at least, make a great story to tell Bev, and Will owes it to her to see it out.

“Tell me” the stranger continues, with seemingly little respect for, or awareness of, Will’s disdain, “how are you not yet feared and worshipped as a god by the masses?” He’s not smiling, but there is a slight tilt to his eyes that might be amusement on a face made of something other than fucking angles and edges. _What_ is _he made of, anyway? Origami?_

“I” says Will in a deliberately dry and disinterested tone “am a chronic under-achiever.”

The old Graham Special of hostility and transparent self-loathing usually brings both desired and undesired romantic encounters to a screeching halt, but Will starts to suspect this particular situation might call for something a little more drastic. He wonders just how many pictures of his dogs the stranger will look at with pretended interest before he gives up. Then he wonders whether the stranger has any more lines ready and whether he should wait to hear them.

The stranger turns to lean against the bar next to Will, facing out into the crowd. Will casts a surreptitious eye over the stranger’s perfectly-tailored suit pants and decides that yes, he should definitely wait for the next line. Fortunately for both of them, it isn’t a long wait.

“What a coincidence it is that we should meet,” the stranger pauses to take a sip of his wine “as I happen to be a chronic _achiever_.” He turns his face to Will’s and when he speaks again, his voice is little more than a low rumble “I don’t suppose you would be interested in being _under_ an _achiever_.”

 _Jesus. Tap-dancing. Christ._ The stranger has taken pick-up lines to new and dizzying heights of embarrassment but the purring bass of his voice has kick-started something in Will’s gut and it only takes one quick breath laced with expensive cologne for his traitorous dick to get in on the act as well. _Whatever_ , Will and his dick decide abruptly; he’s on vacation.

“If I say yes” he asks in what he hopes is a steady voice (he feels anything but) “will you promise not to throw any more lines?”

The stranger smiles - a real smile this time, sharp and predatory with charmingly pointed little teeth - and slides closer to Will, slipping one warm hand under his open suit jacket and over the curve of his ass. “If _I_ said” he murmurs against Will’s ear “that you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?”

Will’s chuckle catches on a groan when he feels the stranger’s teeth scrape the shell of his ear. He pulls away slowly, letting his reluctance show. “If we get any closer here,” Will says quietly, peeling the stranger’s hand from his ass and setting it back on the bar “I don’t think I’m going to be able to stand up to leave.”

The stranger lets his eyes fall to Will’s crotch. His gaze lingers there for long moments, tongue darting out to wet his lips before he raises his gaze again to meet Will’s. His eyes tilt again and there is an air of mischief about him as he reaches over again, this time just letting his fingertips drift over Will’s belt before slipping something into Will’s pocket. A card key.

“Room twelve-oh-five” He says with a growl, “I suggest you make all possible haste.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad pickup-line AU based on [this Tumblr post](https://aleandriseige.tumblr.com/post/183260721331/bad-pick-up-line-meet-awkward-hannigram-au) and hilarious comic by [Aleandri](https://aleandriseige.tumblr.com/).
> 
> _“Room twelve-oh-five” He says with a growl, “I suggest you make all possible haste.”_
> 
> This is what happened in 1205.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd. Any mistakes are completely my own, but I welcome corrections.

“Room twelve-oh-five” He says with a growl, “I suggest you make all possible haste.”

With that, the stranger is gone; striding into the knot of people in the centre of the room and through to the foyer. Will catches a glimpse of ashen hair sparkling in the low light by the elevators.

He takes a deep breath, and then another, deliberately blanking his mind and willing his dick to lie down long enough for him to make a graceful exit from the room. After a few minutes he decides it’s as good as it’s going to get and drains the last of his whiskey and melted ice in a single gulp. 

Will fingers the key card in his pocket while he waits for the elevator and thinks about the stranger’s teeth against his ear. Fuck. He’s hard again and there’s a family stepping into the elevator behind him. He slouches in the corner, slipping his jacket off and draping it over his arm. He watches the floors tick up with growing impatience.

***

1205 is a suite, because of course it is. 

Will tosses his jacket over an armchair and, feeling only vaguely ridiculous about his still-tented pants, makes for the open door of the bedroom.

Opposite a truly huge bed, curving windows offer a floor-to-ceiling view of the city and the sunset, dwindling now to embers over the horizon. To Will’s left is another window, this one opening onto a spacious wet room with a much more enticing view; the stranger, naked and slick, eyes closed and face tilted up to the shower spray.

Will knows that the stranger is aware of his presence; his body tenses slightly, then his nostrils flare and he relaxes again. Will has the funniest feeling that the stranger just identified him by _scent_. He doesn’t know whether to be insulted or just plain creeped out.

“I must be slipping in my old age,” the stranger says casually, as if they were still in the bar and not in his suite while Will watches him shower. “I was sure you would need longer to leave the bar without raising any...” he pauses, just for a beat “eyebrows.” 

The stranger turns to face Will, opens his eyes, and tips his head toward the wet room doorway in obvious invitation.

“Yeah,” Will says, loosening his tie and toeing off his shoes “I probably should have waited longer. There was a family riding the elevator with me, they had a teenage daughter - I think the dad might have got the wrong idea.”

The stranger huffs out a laugh. “Get in here, you ridiculous boy, before you offend any more tourists.”

Will throws his shirt and pants over a nearby chair and drops his watch on the nightstand. He really doesn’t need to be asked twice.

“You can call me Will,” he says, a little breathlessly, as he steps into the spray. He finds himself immediately backed against the glass, caged by strong arms, with pointed teeth and hot tongue pressed into his neck. Will’s dick slides along the stranger’s wet thigh, sending hot sparks into his belly and up his spine. Will has a terrible feeling that this is going to be over embarrassingly fast.

“Why?” Says the stranger thoughtfully, drawing back from Will’s neck. He seems honestly puzzled.

“It’s my name,” Will says, trying hard not to laugh. “You don’t need to tell me yours if you don’t want to. At this point,” he continues in a lower voice, looking down to where the stranger’s long, lean thigh is pressed between his legs “I’ll call you anything you like.”

“In that case” says the stranger “you may call me Hannibal.”

“Why?” Asks Will, echoing the stranger’s thoughtful enquiry from a moment ago.

“It’s my name.” The stranger, _Hannibal_ , Will corrects internally, says primly before returning his lips to Will's neck. 

Will feels the hot length of Hannibal hardening further against his hip and is certain that there is at least one elephant joke begging to be made but then Hannibal’s hips twist just so and they are sliding together, slick with scented foam sluicing down from Hannibal’s hair. The urge to joke is overcome by _yes_ and _fuck_ and _again_ and it’s all too good and almost too much for Will.

Will pulls back, placing a commanding hand in the centre of Hannibal’s chest. “It’s been a while,” he says sheepishly “and I want to take some time here” he adds, placing both hands on Hannibal’s hips, using his thumbs and index fingers to frame up _here_ , then flicking his fingers along Hannibal’s pubic bone and around the soft curve of his belly. 

Hannibal hisses out a quick breath and brings his hands to Will’s wrist, but Will is quicker. In a single sinuous movement, he loops one ankle behind Hannibal, twists and drops to the tiles so he is kneeling, his thighs pressed against tightly-muscled calves. He presses forward with thighs and hands until Hannibal is leaning forward,fingers spread against the water-beaded glass and head hanging heavily between his arms. 

Will strokes the curve of Hannibal’s ass, scratching lightly, and, when Hannibal groans at that, he leans in and bites, scraping his sharp canines along the golden skin. He digs in his nails once more, parting Hannibal’s flesh. When he touches his tongue to Hannibal’s hole, the groaning becomes a sort of strangled growl and Will knows he’s found a good spot to take some of that time he was looking for.

Will starts a slow rhythm of squeezes and licks, first stroking with the flat of his tongue and then, as he grows bolder, thrusting in with the tensed tip. Distantly, he hears the slide and click of wet flesh and he pulls away with a warning growl.

“Stop that. I said I wanted to take my time and I meant it. I don’t want you getting impatient and screwing up my plans.” Will reaches around Hannibal’s hip and takes hold of his hand to still his stroking, replacing it with his own fingers in a tight ring at the base of Hannibal's cock. "There now, will you be good or do I need to get mean?"

Will's not sure if it's the words themselves or the creeping lilt of his buried accent, but Hannibal thrusts into the wet air with a groan.

"I am certain," he pants, watching Will from over his shoulder with what looks like amusement "you are free to take whatever measures you feel are necessary. However, if you are feeling kinder at any point we might need to move to the bedroom. Dry penetration is more punishment than I usually enjoy."

Somehow that quiet, factual pronouncement is hotter than than if Hannibal had said _fuck_. Will gives one last barely-restrained bite to the firm flesh against his lips then stands, running his nails up Hannibal's spine and over his shoulders, just to watch the animalistic movement of muscles under his sleek skin. 

He tips his face to the spray and politely rinses his mouth before shutting off the mixer and launching himself at Hannibal's mouth. It's not a kiss so much as it is a rough collision of teeth and tongues, pushing and nipping and then the copper taste of blood is on his tongue and Will thinks for a mad moment that he might come from just another taste of it mingled with the hot-sweet taste of Hannibal's mouth. 

Still dripping, they move together to the bed. Will pulls away just far enough to whisper "should we dry off before we, uh..".

Hannibal smirks, raising that one eyebrow again. "Do you think that will make a difference to the final state of the linens?"

"In any case," he continues, sucking a lazy bruise into Will's neck, well above where Will's shirt will cover it "I would pay the fee twenty times over before giving up the pleasure of your body against mine".

"That's right," says Will with mock offense "you never did compliment me properly".

"How careless" says Hannibal, folding gracefully onto his knees on the bed and looking Will up and down with clear delight "that I should have been remiss in remarking upon your beautiful form".

"You are," Hannibal says, slipping a hand into the nightstand without taking his eyes from Will "more than the great masters could dream. I could recreate you in marble, charcoal, or a sprawling temple fresco and never do you justice."

Will is so embarrassed that he nearly drops the bottle Hannibal places into his palm. "C'mon with that," he says, famed Southern modesty slipping into place, twanging his speech and colouring his face "I'm already here, aren't I?"

"You are," allows Hannibal "and I count myself extremely fortunate" he finishes, before dropping to his belly, chin on folded arms. "Now," he says, tilting his hips and shamelessly presenting himself to Will "I believe you were about to 'get mean'".

Will climbs onto the bed, flipping the lid on the lube bottle as he moves. He slides into position on his knees behind Hannibal, murmuring theatrically “now, where was I?” as he brushes his fingers over Hannibal’s spread thighs and down the crease between his buttocks. He reaches forward for a moment, skimming over soft hidden skin to stroke the back of Hannibal’s balls, feeling the heavy weight of them against his hand. He feels a flicker of movement against his palm and hears quick indrawn breath from above. 

“This is no time for procrastination, Will” Hannibal says in a low, strained voice. Sweat has broken out on the tawny skin at the top of spine, fresh new droplets springing where the shower water has already dried. Will wants to taste them. 

He kneels up, pouring a generous amount of lube out into his palm. He warms it between his hands before returning both to Hannibal’s ass, running his hands over and around and in between before slipping his index finger inside. 

Hannibal groans deep in his throat as he tightens against Will’s finger. Will marvels for a moment at the tight lock of Hannibal’s muscle before it relaxes in sync with a long, deep, deliberate sigh. Another sighing breath and another and then Will pulls back and re-enters with two fingers. With practised ease, he twists and scissors his fingers until he feels the muscle begin to relax in pleasure, rather than just the determined command of its operator.

Hannibal begins to move, just a slight rocking of his hips back against Will’s hand. As the swing becomes longer and more deliberate, Will crooks one finger down towards Hannbal’s belly. He finds the soft bulge of Hannibal’s prostate and positions his fingers just alongside so that the swing of Hannibal’s hips naturally moves them together. With a broken moan, Hannibal brings his thrusts lower to the bed, rubbing his cock against the bedclothes on each stroke.

“If you are hoping to fuck me,” he says around another pained-sounding moan “you had best do it soon”. Will was wrong, Hannibal’s gutteral _fuck_ is the hands-down the hottest thing Will has ever heard, and it’s the only invitation he needs.

Will sits back on his heels. He tears open the condom that has appeared by his left knee, rolling it down in a hurry then lubing himself up with one slick hand rubbed over and around his own dick. He grabs Hannibal’s taut thighs and hauls the other man back until he is straddling Will’s lap and the slippery base of Hannibal’s cock is resting on Will’s thighs.

Will thrusts forcefully into Hannibal, expecting resistance. He is surprised and delighted when he slips in almost completely unhindered and with only one smooth movement, finds himself pressed flush against Hannibal’s heated skin. He starts to move; slowly, grasping Hannibal’s hips and pulling his body back along Will’s cock on every instroke. Hannibal cries out with each thrust, wordlessly at first and then in French. 

“Comme ça, oui, _oui_ ,” he chants as Will moves in him, and “plus fort, je t’implore”.

At that, Will curls over Hannibal, pushing him down into the pillows, thrusting hard and deep. “You got it, _cher_ , he murmurs into Hannibal’s ear and is rewarded by another throaty moan. 

Will licks a long wet stripe up Hannibal’s cervical vertebrae, tasting dripping sweat, soap and shampoo and the sweet hot metal taste of Hannibal’s skin; so much like blood that he feels the first hot curl of orgasm unfurl in his gut. Beneath him, he feels Hannibal’s hips stutter, his loss of rhythm punctuated by a deep groan of “mords-moi, _Will_ ”.

Hearing his name dragged out over Hannibal’s groans is too much, and Will feels himself quickly slipping under the wave of his orgasm. He opens his jaws wider and sinks his teeth into the silky skin that skirts Hannibal’s hairline. Will tastes blood; salt and copper. He comes hard, white stars shooting behind his closed lids, and knees and arms weakening so that all he can do is grip Hannibal’s shoulders as he feels him tighten around him and shudder in his own pleasure.

When he can move without pitching over, Will pulls out of Hannibal and ties off the condom. He drops it into the bin under the nightstand and flops bonelessly onto the driest patch of bed he can find. 

“How did you know I’d understand you?” Will asks when he has caught his breath. “It seems risky to test out my foreign language skills on such a crucial operation.”

“Hm?” Hannibal has apparently misplaced his former eloquence somewhere in the wreck of his hotel sheets. “Oh,” he says after a moment, coming back to himself “do you? That is fortunate for me.”

He rolls to face Will. His face is still flushed and evidence of his orgasm still shines wetly on his belly, but his expression is sombre. “That doesn’t happen often, not with strangers. I apologise if it confused you.”

Will shrugs. “Actually, _cher_ , it made perfect sense at the time. When I first moved to New Orleans, I did all my drinking and fucking in the Vieux Carré. I grew up in Creole neighbourhoods, so it kinda felt like home.” 

_You felt like home_ is what he really means, but that’s too big a thought for the tail-end of a boozy bar pick-up so he pushes it down and gets up to head for the shower. On a whim, he holds his hand. “You want me to scrub your back?”

Hannibal takes the offered hand and lets himself be pulled to the bathroom, scrubbed and dried and nudged back to the bed, which Will has now stripped of its filthy coverlet. The sun has well and truly set and the sheets glow white in the city lights. Will eyes it longingly for a few heartbeats then turns to the armchair and starts to pull on his shirt.

“I thought,” says Hannibal hesitantly “that you might like to stay, at least for a little while. I am not a young man, but we might yet make more of the night.”

Will thinks of his own room, floors below, with its narrow shower stall and view of the street. He thinks about his empty bed and imagines 

“Sure,” he says, slipping off his shirt again and padding back to the bed. He settles in beside Hannibal, propping himself up on an elbow so as to look down on his face. 

“T'es trop beau” Hannibal whispers up at him, sharp teeth flashing in the dark. 

Will smiles. “You’re not so bad yourself. In fact,” he says thoughtfully, “I could definitely use a face like yours when I move to conquer the world.”

“What a terrible line” Hannibal says with a grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comme ça: Just like that  
> Plus fort, je t’implore: Harder, please  
> Bite me : mords-moi
> 
> My naughty French phrases come from [Awesome French](https://awesomefrench.tumblr.com/) because DuoLingo doesn't teach you dirty words right away.


End file.
